


Withnail & I Drabbles

by Elinad



Category: Withnail & I (1986)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elinad/pseuds/Elinad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title suggests, various one-shots from Withnail and I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

THREE LITTLE WORDS

"Listen Withnail, it's a stinker, why don't you go back?"

"Because I want to walk you to the station."

Another failed attempt at dissuading my companion, well…then this was it, time for cold hard facts.

I stopped and looked him hard in the face.

"Well don't, please don't, I really don't want you to."

Placing a hand upon his thin shoulder, I plaster the best smile I can on my face,

"I'm shall miss you Withnail."

There's not a hint of a smile on his; in fact, I've never seen him look so helpless, so vulnerable and so strangely innocent. His face looks even gaunter than ever, his cheekbones like knives under the surface of his pale skin, causing his great eyes to appear even larger then normal. They shine with a genuine misery. It all just makes me want to grab the stupid; skinny shit and never let him go…oh why must you make this so damn hard for me?

"I shall miss you too." He pauses, "Chin, chin!"

It is the most heartfelt, genuine thing he's ever said to me, and I can feel it. His silent pleading, begging me not to go, call me selfish, and perhaps I am, but I know for certain he's never going to survive without me. But I can't take this anymore.

And so, I turned my back and walked away.

It took every ounce of strength in me to keep walking and not look back. Not to look back at the tall, sparse figure I knew would be watching my every move, praying to God that I'd turn around.

Little does the world know what fine actors the both of us made, every day we were in role, playing the part of the mutual friends, hiding what we both knew to be true. Yet how could I live like that? How could I go on, living a lie, letting a love live unacknowledged?

It is indescribably painful.

And I can't be the strong one anymore. I can't.

The whole while I walk, I strain my ears for the sound of hurried footfall, a sudden embrace, a desperate kiss. The whispering – or shouting of those three words, three words every inch of me craves.

But no there's no sound. No sound but the distant traffic and steady rainfall.

I continue onward, towards whatever awaits me. A part of me has died, and I mourn that loss; allowing tears to silently fall, hiding themselves amongst the wetness all around me. But I know that after death comes rebirth…for most at least…

He didn't say them.

He didn't say them.

Oh god, why couldn't he say them?

Those three, little, words.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Withnail's POV

Fine, oh fine you bastard! Walk away then, don't even look back while you're at it, and just leave me standing here. It's alright, I'll be ok.

Who am I fucking kidding? Of course I won't be ok.

Well what do you want me to do? Proclaim my love for you here in the rain, for all to hear? Present myself as the filthy creature I am? Tell you how I feel so you can look at me with disgust – perhaps even a little pity, and have an even better reason to go?

Bastard! Fucking bastard!

Why should I get down on one knee lay my heart on a silver platter, so you can knock it out of my hands! You're not a revolting sodomite like me. Your heart doesn't flip in your chest every time our eyes meet. You don't fantasize a certain warm body next to yours when you're alone and cold. I know you don't because if you did…you'd never be walking away.

Selfish fucking bastard! Pretty bastard! Damn it I love you.

All those Shakespeare sonnets, I always thought them so bloody whiny and always about, fucking, love!

But I understand now. I truly do.

Why, I think all this wallowing in self-pity and dramatic set of falling rain warrants some Hamlet. Yes, indeed! I even have the perfect soliloquy to end this play of heartbreak and suffering:

I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! How like an angel in apprehension! How like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither…nor woman neither.

I bow to the unresponsive bitches behind the gate and examine the wine…yes, there's just enough to fill the barrels of my dear Uncle's shotgun…yes! What a dramatic, fitting way to go. A true finale for the thespian! And I hope that bastard guiltily returns to our squalid flat and discovers my blasted corpse. Hah! And I hope he weeps. How I hope he weeps, perhaps then he can appreciate a tiny fraction of my pain.

Alas! It's always the fate of the unappreciated in the world to vanish from it so young.

Well, it's my curtain call, yet there's no one to throw the roses.


	2. Not Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny/Withnail implied Danny/Marwood, Presuming Ed/Withnail and Danny/Presuming Ed.
> 
> I've always thought of Danny as bi, able to see the beauty in everything…or just willing to shag anything with a postcode.

Danny watched, utterly entranced from his comfy slump on the chair as Withnail took another drag from the "Camberwell Carrot".

Lids fluttered over clouding eyes and cheeks sucked in to expose already prominent cheekbones. So utterly, clueless-ly, elegant he relaxed, head back as he passed the giant doobie with a delicate hand back to his stoned dealer.

As he inhaled Danny yet again began to admire the magnificently wasted, yet oh-so-striking specimen across from him. His eyes roved from the thick crop of black hair, the large icy eyes, now lethargic, staring at the ceiling. The sharp jaw line, the long, swan like neck leading down to an open shirt; revealing smooth, pale flesh and prominent collar bones that Danny had a strange desire to bite. He followed the long narrow torso down to even longer narrower legs stretched across the floor.

He sucked on the huge spliff, wishing he was sucking on something else. Effeminate little fucker – he thought, just there, just fucking asking to be fucked. Goddamn, this weed was making him horny.

He wished the other kid were there, he was a pretty little thing too. But he'd gone, leaving his constantly drunk roommate for the taking. A shame though, he mused, they both would have looked nice squashed against a mattress beneath him, he would have liked a big sex sandwich with the both of them.

But alas, you make do with what you've got which for Danny at that moment was the beautiful ponce, now asleep on the sofa and a huge spade who had just wandered in from the kitchen.

Ed picked the young Mr Withnail up as if he weighed nothing – which he practically did, seated himself upon the sofa and laid the bony body across his meaty thighs.

Although Danny was feeling rather aroused, he knew he was too out of it to plough anyone and besides, he would want his partner to be fully awake; or as fully awake as one can be when they drink constantly, and responsive.

Ed began, as he regularly did, to pet Withnail with large yet gentle hands; cradling his face and stroking the cold, lanky frame. Danny knew Ed was completely fascinated with the boy; most people were, but Ed especially. Danny assumed it was because they were complete physical, and mental, opposites.

Beginning to undo more of Withnail's shirt buttons, Ed gave Danny a look.

Returning the look, and taking another drag, Danny said "No Ed, not tonight."

The black man merely nodded, and continued his caressing.

"Tomorrow?"

"…Yeah, why not."


	3. Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick note - Withnail's thoughts are in italic, and Marwood's in bold.

_Ok, here goes…it's a good enough excuse…fool proof even:_

"And in both our interests I think we should sleep together tonight." _Please, oh please Peter say yes, you pretty bastard-_

"Don't be ridiculous, he's not going to come up here in the dark."

_Idiot. He's a murderer, m-u-r-d-e-r-e-r. Of course he's going to come up here in the dark! Because THAT'S WHAT MURDERERS DO._

"Yes he is. And if he catches one of us off guard he's got a much better chance of dealing with the other one." _Come on! It's cold and…oh alright I admit it… I'm shit scared! Be a friend. I promise I won't molest you… that much. Oh, it's so cold, I need someone warm to lie beside me, I -_

"No."

With that, Mr Withnail had no choice but to stand upon the landing of the decrepit dwelling, quite alone, quite afraid, watching the retreating back of his secret object of desire. Bugger.

But after much gun wielding, candle dropping, quilt clutching and impromptu arrivals of unexpected uncles, the boys were at last alone. There was a comfortable moment of sighed relief, until Withnail, suddenly rolling over, cheerfully exclaimed. "Good night old chap!"

"What but…", Peter's sentence dissolved as he examined the figure of his friend, "….goodnight then." He replied, reluctantly lying down and surrendering to the comfort of the covers.

**Shit. Shit! This is not what I wanted! What happens now? What the hell happens if I roll over and rape the skinny bastard?!**

Biting his lip, he fought the vivid, and worryingly, sensual images that were running through his mind. This was the reason why he had previously rejected the offer of them sleeping together. During all this, he had not noticed the figure next to him slyly edging his way closer, until suddenly a pair of taut buttocks; sheathed only by a thin layer of shirt material, were brushing against his back. Peter froze. Clutching the quilt in fear and wondering what the hell to do next, he could barely contain a gasp as Withnail came even closer. Steadying himself with a long, deep, breath, Peter nearly started again in shock as Withnail began to rub his rear against him. **Is this what he wants? What should I do…should I…?**

After much deliberation, Peter turned to meet his companion, his growing erection scraping against Withnail's aforementioned arse area. With a small murmur of approval, Withnail moved so that he and Peter were facing one another. They were both still, merely looking at one another blankly, until simultaneously two pairs of arms shot out and their faces melded together. Peter found himself consuming a thin pair of somewhat dry lips and his mouth wrestling with a long, nicotine tasting tongue in a rough and brutal kiss. He easily wrapped a strong arm around his friend's narrow frame as he hungrily drew him in to him. Whilst Withnail's slender hands found themselves buried in Peter's thick, curly mane. Peter rubbed his groin vigorously against his partner's, which prompted him to emit low, lustful moans in to his mouth, and to muss his hair with more passion. The embrace was becoming, if possible, even more heated. Mouths locked desperately, ravenously, the two men kissing as if their very lives depended on it. Until, gasping for breath, the need for oxygen forced both to pull apart.

Sitting up, Peter flung off the covers and began to relieve Withnail of his shirt, and none too gently – several buttons being sacrificed in the process. At last, the treasure of the effeminate, porcelain body was unearthed. So thin, so delicate…he looked as if he could shatter in to a million pieces if anyone was too careless. Possessively, Peter placed his hands upon his friend's cold, heaving chest, caressing the soft pale skin. Skin so sepulchrally pale, it almost glowed in the darkness of the room. With a growl of satisfaction, he lunged in to plant a kiss on one pink nipple, his tongue teasing it into a hard bud. Withnail leaned back in satisfaction. Encouraged by this, Peter moved his mouth slowly down, trailing a line of kisses along that perfectly flat stomach, but teasingly, as he neared Withnail's swollen member, he pulled away. With a hiss like a coiled viper, Withnail thrust a wiry arm and firmly pulled Peter's head back to where it belonged: his crotch. Grinning, Peter unhurriedly extended his tongue and flicked it tantalizingly. Groaning from the agitation, Withnail was just about to dole out another hearty tug at Peter's head when swiftly, he found his whole length being engulfed in a mouthy embrace. Eyes lidded in pleasure, he thrust eagerly in to his now-turned-lover's mouth. Clutching at air, and writhing as Peter started to bite, his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin sent hot jolts of sensation that reverberated through the wannabe thespian. Like a cymbal when hit by the drumstick.

Back arched, Withnail began to surrender himself to mattress, writhing at the pleasure of it all. Suddenly he gasped as cold air rushed around his hot, moist length, now coated in a warm layer of saliva, he cracked open an eye to see what his pretty partner was doing – fumbling through the aged oak dresser that was next to the bed. "What the devil are you doing?" Came a condescending, but at the same time, amused voice. Smiling over his bare shoulder Peter wiggled the small tube of lubrication proudly. Withnail couldn't help but laugh. This was his uncle's cottage after all. With a proud smirk Withnail sank back on to the sheets finding himself strangely relaxed as large quantities of lube were slathered over his ass by strong, but slim hands. Marwood prepared his own straining erection and then hitched two rickety legs over his shoulders. God, it'd been a while since he'd done this. Withnail gasped at the sudden feeling of fullness. Balling the quilt in his fists his breath hitched as he was penetrated again. It was all Peter could do not to cry out right there; the other man was so wondrously, deliciously tight around him as he thrust in once more.

They kept up this routine for a while, a steady yet sensuous beat of in. Out. In. Out. But both were beginning to feel the heat, as (somewhat shockingly, Withnail's circulation could actually function!) as Marwood, surprised, observed his partner was now covered in a light sheen of sweat.

"Ohhh, Peter, mmm….uh" This deep growl from beneath him was a strange turn on for the young Marwood, as was the sight of the usually pallid complexion before him; flushed in pleasure. Withnail just looked so damn adorable like this! Licking his lips he leaned in and sucked hard on his lover's graceful neck. The normally (vaguely) composed Withnail was somewhat unravelled by this. Moaning incoherently as he pressed bony fingers in to Peter's broad shoulders. Peter too began to feel his composure melt away…and started to thrust. Harder. Faster. Shoving the other man up against the wooden board at the bottom of the bed, he pushed himself in with all his might – creating almost painfully delicious friction. Withnail's fingertips were now pressing so hard Marwood was sure they were going to leave bruises. It was all getting so much. The heat, Peter could no longer think, only feel, his whole brain felt drowned in the heat. He started to pant, rocking forcefully back and forth -

"Uh. Uh. Uh! Christ…I'm going to…I'm going to" With a scream, Withnail spurted white, clinging to Peter to anchor himself against the wave of bliss that had finally drowned him. Peter suddenly felt the walls of muscle clench down all around him, wringing out his own climax. Head spinning, he withdrew and collapsed next to his partner.

 **We've done it. Holy fuck, we've actually done it…** \- He was sure the disbelief and surrealness would hit him in the morning. But for now, he decided to close his eyes and surrender himself to sleep. Downstairs, an uninvited uncle smiled somewhat sadly to himself.

 

Fin.


End file.
